


Falling Into the Sky

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: Castle
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Fae & Fairies, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s impossible to believe that the crumpled form in the middle of the street could possibly be Kevin Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Into the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for the longfic bingo square "magic." I'm also going to use this as my wildcard square on h/c bingo. Fairly graphic descriptions of injuries, torture, and a mild reference to domestic abuse.

The only way he can hold Ryan in his arms without making the injuries worse is to cradle him across his lap, one hand on his back, between the wing spurs, the other helping Ryan keep his head cushioned, cradled in the crook of Javier’s elbow.  Ryan stares up at him with blank eyes, his mouth open, the silent hiss of breath the only indication he’s even still alive.

Javier leans down and presses his lips to Ryan’s forehead.  “It’s okay, querido,” he whispers.  “It’s okay.  They’re coming.  Help is coming.”

~*~

It’s impossible to believe that the crumpled form in the middle of the street could possibly be Kevin Ryan.  This man is too small, too broken, and Esposito can’t believe that his partner could ever look so . . . tiny.  But the closer he gets, the more unmistakable it becomes.  Javier’s breath catches in his throat when he steps around the back bumper of his car and sees the wing.

It’s Ryan’s wing, thin and membranous and shaped like a dragonfly’s.  Javi chokes on a breath and has to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe.  He’s known about Ryan’s fae blood for as long as they’ve been partners, but it’s not something Ryan tells everyone, so the fact that Ryan’s wing is lying on the ground, separated from his body—that’s bad.  Javi carefully steps around the wing and hurries toward Ryan.  He sinks to his knees next to Ryan’s body.

“Shit, shit, you better be alive,” he whispers, pressing two fingers underneath Ryan’s jaw.  He feels the faintest flutter of a pulse and gasps in relief.  “Okay.  Okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Ryan’s lying on his side, face toward the pavement.  His right arm is cradled in close to his side, the place where the shoulder meets the arm showing classic signs of dislocation; his left is flung up to cradle his head and keep his face off the pavement.  Ryan’s pants are torn and dirty, and his suit jacket and sweater vest are missing.  The white shirt underneath—crisp and clean this morning when he’d come in for the start of their shift—is soiled and torn.  There are clearly bruises and cuts under what’s left of his clothes, and there’s a place on his thigh that Javi suspects was burned or branded.  There are probably broken ribs, too, although it’s hard to check for that without taking off Ryan’s clothing, and Javi’s not even sure he’d know what to look for.  He’s up-to-date on his first aid certifications, but broken ribs usually manifest in the way a victim holds himself, or keeps an arm across her chest.

“Ryan,” he says, raising his voice a little to make sure he’s heard, “I’m going to pull you toward me so I can see your back, okay?  I’m not going to move you, I’m just going to shift your weight so I can see what they did to you.”  Ryan doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t even twitch.  Javi pulls Ryan forward, exactly like he said, and even though he knows what he’s going to see, he isn’t prepared for the sight of Ryan’s back.  One wing is missing, as expected, the place where it should be bloody and oozing, barely clotted enough to keep from making a puddle of blood around them.  The other wing is pulled half off, the delicate membrane that made it up shredded by a knife or—god, it’s messy enough someone could have used their fingernails to do this.  Bile rises in Javier’s throat, and he has to look away from the damage.  He’s seen some pretty fucked up shit, but it’s always different when the vic is still alive.  It’s even worse when it’s someone you know.

He takes a few deep, calming breaths and settles Ryan back into place.  “I’m not leaving, I promise,” he tells Ryan, unsure if Ryan can even hear him.  “I’m not leaving, but I have to go radio this in.”

He doesn’t actually have to get up and go back to the car, but he wants to get the severed wing out of Ryan’s sightline, just in case he actually is cognizant, or in case he becomes cognizant while they’re waiting for help to arrive.  He radios dispatch, has to force himself to say the words “officer down,” has to stop for a breath every few words.

“Detective Esposito,” dispatch asks, worried even through the radio static, “are you hurt or incapacitated?”

“No, I just—“ he breathes again and closes his eyes against the sight of Ryan’s wing lying there on his car seat.  “It’s my partner.  The officer down is my partner.”

“We’ll send someone right away, Detective,” dispatch promises.  “You should be hearing sirens very shortly, but keep your radio close just in case.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Javi shakes it off and shoves his radio back into the clip on his belt.  He lets himself lean against the car for a minute, then pulls himself back together and walks back over to Ryan.  He kneels back down, then slides down to sit on the wet asphalt.  He puts a hand on Ryan’s face and feels the tiniest of shivers.  “Hey, Ryan,” he murmurs.  “Can you hear me?”

Ryan’s eyes flicker up toward Javi’s face, and Javi breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, good, that’s good.  I don’t want you to try to move, I can’t tell how bad your injuries are and I don’t want to make them worse, but I am right here, and—“ Javi’s voice breaks and he clears his throat.  Ryan’s fingers twitch, and Javi doesn’t think twice before taking Ryan’s hand and twining their fingers together.  “You doing okay?”

“ _Hurts_.”

Esposito blinks.  Ryan is staring at him, squeezing his fingers so tight it’s cutting off Javi’s circulation, and he almost misses the word, it’s that soft.  “What hurts, Ryan?”

“ _Face._ ”

It takes a matter of seconds for Javi to decide he needs to move Ryan off of his side and into a more upright position.  “Okay.  This might hurt worse for a minute but I need to see the other side of your face.  I’m going to pull you into a sitting position so I can see why your face hurts.”

Ryan blinks in acknowledgement, and Javier takes a minute to situate himself correctly, so he’s kneeling over Ryan’s body.  He counts down for Ryan, then pulls, twisting Ryan’s body a little so he’s sitting with his legs straight out in front of him.  The side of Ryan’s face that had been toward the pavement is caked in blood.  There’s an open laceration down the side of his face, and what little skin Javi can see is swollen and abraded.  Javi can’t even get air into his lungs for a long moment.  He takes a hand off Ryan’s shoulder and presses his fingertips to the place just below Ryan’s left eye.  His fingers come away bloody.  Ryan shudders, and Javi pulls Ryan in close.

He cradles Ryan in one arm, letting his head rest next to his heart against his chest.  “Okay,” he says, keeping the shake out of his voice.  It’s raining again—has been off and on all day—and Javi wants to scream at the sky.  “They—they’ll be here soon, I promise,” he mumbles.  He looks back up at the sky, rain falling in his face, washing away the sweat and grime of a day spent chasing down witnesses to his own partner’s abduction, washing away the evidence of what happened.  He can’t tell if he’s angry or upset or just numb.

Ryan shakes in his arms and Javier looks down at him.  The blood is slowly dripping away from his face in the rain, and Javi can already see the extensive bruising centered on Ryan’s cheekbone.  “Javier,” he mouths, voice barely making the sounds.

“Yeah,” Javi chokes.  “I’m here, Kev.”  He puts one hand on Ryan’s back, between the wing spurs that jut from just below the shoulder blades to give Ryan better support, pulls him more fully into his lap.  Ryan mouths words to the sky, and Javi can’t lip read fast enough to know what he’s saying, but it ends on a ragged breath Javi can only translate as a scream.  Ryan twitches in his arms, violent and full-body, then stills, shivering from cold and shock.  Javi presses him closer to his chest, trying to will heat back into him.  Carefully, he leans down and presses a kiss to Ryan’s forehead.  “It’s okay, querido,” he whispers.  “It’s okay.  They’re coming.  Help is coming.”

~*~

He fell in love with Ryan quietly.  Like falling into the snow to make a snow angel, or how he guesses falling into the sky might feel.  It was more of a floating away than a sudden realization.  By increments and degrees, he began to realize that he felt something.  Then that he cared.  Until suddenly, there it was, quiet and unobtrusive and completely settled into every part of his life.  He was in love with Kevin Ryan.

It seemed natural, and he hadn’t felt any pressing need to express himself.  The only serious relationship Ryan had ever had in all the years they’d been partners had been with Jenny, and she’d bowed out a few short, painful weeks before the wedding date, teary-eyed looks for Ryan and reproachful glances when she ran into Javier.  He’d never asked, because he knew.  She’d figured out what he’d never even thought to hide.  He’d barely known himself at that point, but it seems more than obvious in retrospect.

They’d both dated here and there after that.  Ryan had brought a few other girls by the precinct, but never anyone Javi felt the same careful assessment from, and never anyone who lasted very long after the first work visit.  Javi’s own flings had mostly been of the one-night variety—Lanie excepted—and were becoming fewer and farther between.  Lately he’d been going home if he wasn’t going out with someone from the precinct—which usually meant with Ryan—and he’d been feeling more and more that it was almost time to make his move.  He’d just never expected Ryan would get snatched off the street _without him_.

_He should have been there_.  It’s the one thought that keeps pounding through his head as he sits in the pouring rain, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Ryan’s shaking body held in his arms.  It keeps repeating, too, even after the medics have arrived and strapped him to the gurney, as he’s following behind in his car, as he’s parking in front of the ER doors.  He walks inside gripping Ryan’s severed wing in one hand.

“Sir!” one nurse exclaims, and then about five other RNs are on top of him, trying to figure out if the wing is his, and if not, who it belongs to.

“Detective Kevin Ryan,” he grinds out.  “It’s his.  He just came through here.”

“The fae with only one wing, right,” one of the nurses in the back says.  “You’re his . . .”

“Partner,” Javi answers, letting her take that in whatever context she wants to.

“Detective Ryan is fae, then.  Full or part blood?” she asks, pulling him over to her station and making notes on a clipboard.

“Full,” he answers.  “Where is he?”

“Luanne, take Detective Ryan’s wing from Mr . . .”

“Detective Esposito,” Javi snaps.

“From Detective Esposito and make sure they get it in the OR,” the nurse finishes, eying him a little irritably.  “Detective, we’ll need as much medical history as you can give us.”

“He’s full-blood fae, winged, obviously.  He doesn’t smoke, no history of any chronic illnesses.  No previous trauma injuries.  I think—I think the last bad injury he had was the GSW a few years back.”  Javi shakes himself out of that thought and focuses on the nurse.  “How bad is he, please?  I need to see him.”

“He’s already in the OR, sir.  The paramedics called ahead to us, it was all prepped the minute he came through the doors.  We need to stop the bleeding, close up the cuts and burns, and make sure he doesn’t have any internal injuries, then we can reassess his patient status, all right?”

“He’s going to make it, though?” Javi asks, feeling desperate.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I don’t know that, and I can’t make any promises.  I do know we’re doing the absolute best that we can right now,” she adds.  He must look as distraught as he feels, because she points him to a comfortable looking waiting room.  “If you like, you can wait over there until there’s news.  I’ll make sure the trauma surgeon knows there’s someone waiting for him.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Javi sighs.  He goes over to the waiting area.  It’s designed for families who know they’ll have long waits.  He settles in, then pulls out his cell and dials Beckett.

“Beckett,” she answers on the second ring.  She’s been waiting for him to call, he thinks.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says.  “It was him.”

“Fuck,” she whispers.  She was the one who’d gotten the anonymous tip that Ryan had been dumped on the street for them.  There’s a soft exchange of words, too low for Javi to hear, and he assumes she’s filling in Castle on the details.  “Any clue as to who did this?”

“Nothing the fucking rain didn’t destroy already, unless they left prints or forensic evidence on him.  Which is possible, with how bad he’s—“ Javi finds he has to clear his throat before he can continue.  “Beckett?  Catch them.”

“We’ll do our best, Javier,” she promises.  “Castle says he’ll send Martha and Alexis over with clean clothes for the both of you and a proper meal.”

“Yeah, okay.  Don’t know that Ryan’ll need clothes any time soon. Nurses seem to think he’ll be in surgery most of the night, and then the ICU after that.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Javi wonders what she’s thinking, then, “Esposito.  How bad is it?”

“It’s—it’s bad.  Dislocated shoulder, probable internal injuries, shit.  Fuck.  They—they knew about his wings, Kate.”

“What?”  He hears her shush Castle before she demands again, “They knew?”

“Looks like they had prior knowledge of who and what he was.  One wing was fucking _off_.  Yards away on the fucking asphalt.  And the other one was half-off and shredded.”  He breathes through the nausea and the rage, lets himself calm before he keeps going.  “They broke him, Beckett.  So you find them and you put them in jail, or--”  He stops, can’t finish the sentence.

“Esposito,” she says, voice steady.  “I will find them.”

~*~

Alexis shows up around midnight, carrying a tote bag full of snack food and extra underwear.  “Gram says to say hi, and she’ll be around in the morning to bring you breakfast,” she says, handing the bag over.  “She also says you should try to eat something.”

“Thanks,” Javi sighs, weary beyond what he thought he could handle.

“Hey,” she says, biting her lip.  “He’s going to be okay, right?  Detective Ryan is going to be okay?”

Javi wants to tell her “Yes, of course.  Everything’s going to be fine, the doctors will fix it, I found him in time.”  He wants to tell her, “Don’t worry, he’s going to pull through, you can see him in the morning.”  He wants to say anything comforting, anything reassuring, but he can’t even muster up the strength to lie to himself about those things, so instead he just stares at her and doesn’t say anything.

She watches him not knowing what to say for a moment, then straightens her shoulders and nods.  “Of course he’ll be all right,” she tells him.  “You found him, and you got him here, and now there are doctors making sure of it.”

He watches her settle into a chair and pull out a Speech and Communications textbook, feeling hopeless and out of place in this mostly-empty hospital waiting room.

People he knows cycle through.  Lanie comes by and presses motherly kisses to his forehead until Beckett and Castle show up.  Gates passes through the room a few times, more stalking and growling than Javi knows how to deal with until he realizes it’s her way of showing that she cares.  Castle takes Alexis home around three, and Beckett walks them out, but she comes back and sits with Javi, just sitting there, quietly, while the rest of the hospital moves around them.

She keeps vigil while he dozes, occasionally getting up to stretch her legs or make a run for coffee.  She leaves around five, and Javi wakes up only enough to wave her away before he’s back with his arm flung over his eyes, blocking the soft lamp-light out.

He’s half-asleep, dreaming of one-winged dragonflies, when the doctor finally comes into the room.  “Mr. Esposito?  Detective?” he calls.  “I’m Doctor Adams.”

Javi jerks awake, rubs his eyes and takes a moment to compose himself.  “Yeah, hang on,” he grumbles, scrubbing his hands through his hair and doing his best to shake off sleep.  He wants to be awake for this news, whatever it is.  “Okay,” he nods finally.

“Well, I’ve got good news.  We were able to save both of Mr. Ryan’s wings.  He won’t be able to use them or his glamour for another few weeks, but since he’s full-blood fae, they should heal up very nicely, and fairly quickly,” the doctor explains.  “We’ve got them bandaged down to his back for now, to help brace them and to keep them still while the wing spurs heal.”

“Okay,” Javi nods.  “That’s good.  That’s better than I’d hoped.”

“Mr. Ryan’s got a big advantage on most people, since the shock from losing a limb like that would normally take days to get over.  But since he’s full blood, he has some healing capabilities, which are helping his body get back to a neutral state faster than normal,” the doctor points out.

“What about his other injuries?” he asks.

“Mr. Ryan’s other injuries were more extensive than we originally thought.  While we were repairing his wings, we noticed discoloration and bruising along his sides, and upon inspection, we discovered major internal injuries.  He sustained major blunt-force trauma,” the doctor says.  Javi can’t stop himself from blanching.  “We repaired the damage we could see, and we’re keeping a close eye on things.  There wasn’t any perforation to the digestive tract, which is excellent news.  Right now we’re concerned with clotting and internal bleeding.  There’s also a chance of pneumothorax.  His chest didn’t take anywhere near as bad a beating, but he’s got multiple broken ribs on both sides of the chest.”

Javi nods again.  This is nothing he hadn’t expected.  “What about the cuts and bruises?” he asks finally, his throat clicking a little.  “They appeared extensive when I found him.”

“Most of the cuts were shallow and will close up on their own.  The ones that needed stitches have been taken care of, and everything is bandaged.  There were, however, two places of concern to us.  First, the burn on his leg.  It’s a third-degree burn, probably made from a hot iron of some kind.  They wanted to cauterize the wound as it was being made, to keep him alive longer, probably.  From what we can piece together from the extent of the injuries and the way they were healed, they probably decided that branding wasn’t having the desired effect and moved on to his wings instead.”  The doctor pauses, consulting his chart.  “It’s not uncommon for those with fae blood to have extremely high tolerance for that sort of burn.  We’re not sure why that is, but it probably helped save your friend’s life.”

“And the other concern?” he demands.

“You may have noticed the extreme condition of the left side of his face?” the doctor asks.  Javi nods, mouth tight.  He doesn’t like where this is heading.  “Well, the good news is, in a couple months you’ll barely be able to tell there’s a scar,” he tries, smiling a little.  Javi doesn’t react, just waits for the rest of it.  “It appears that whoever did this to Mr. Ryan had or has developed a personal hatred of him.  This is the sort of injury we see from abusive partners trying to hide their handiwork.  He was hit in the face with a blunt instrument, probably something like a tire iron or baseball bat.  Maybe the same thing they used on his stomach and abdomen.  This was methodical, though.  They didn’t stop until he was past being able to scream.”

“They hit him more than once?” Javi growls.

“At least twice,” the doctor confirms.  “His cheekbone is broken—fractured.  Cheekbones are some of the worst breaks as far as the pain goes.  As you can imagine, sinuses and breathing are often affected, and there’s not much we can do about helping the healing aside from pain medication.  Luckily for Mr. Ryan, none of his teeth were loosened or lost during the assault.  Whoever did this has done it before.”

Javi nods.  “I need to make a phone call.  My boss needs this information.”

“Of course,” the doctor nods.  “Whatever you need.  I do need to tell you that Mr. Ryan will be coming out of the anesthesia shortly, and we’d like to have someone he knows nearby.”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees.  “Doc.  He’s gonna make it, right?”

The doctor calmly assesses Javier, the way he’s standing, the rumpled clothes, and the area behind him, littered with the detritus of a night spent mostly awake.  “I’m hopeful, but there’s a lot we still don’t know,” he explains.  “We don’t know the full extent of the internal damage, and we don’t know for sure that the wings will heal right.  There’s still a lot of _if_ we have to get through.”

“Okay.  But there’s hope?” Javi asks.

“There’s hope,” the doctor agrees.  “Once you’ve made your phone call, find one of the nurses and let her know Dr. Adams said it was all right for you to go up to the ICU now.”

“Thanks, doc,” Javi nods.  He feels lightheaded with the relief of knowing Ryan’s got a chance, that maybe the broken, misshapen body he’d found lying in the street could be repaired after all.  It takes a few minutes to call Beckett and fill her in on the suspect’s signature of blunt force trauma to the face, then get a nurse to point him toward the ICU.

The elevator is quiet and a little oppressive going up, and Javi wishes he’d taken the stairs mere seconds after he steps inside, but he’s at his floor quickly enough.  Another nurse points him to the right recovery room, and brings him a chair to put next to the bed.  Javi sets it as close to the bed as he can manage, close enough he can take Ryan’s hand and squeeze a little.  He looks worse than Javi imagined he would, his entire torso wrapped in white bandages, half his face covered by a bright blue ice pack.  There are stitches everywhere, and a sling on his right arm.

One of the nurses he’d seen on the floor comes in and adjusts something on the IV stand attached to Ryan’s arm.  “Mr. Ryan?  Mr. Ryan, it’s time to wake up now,” she calls, voice soft yet firm.  “There’s someone to see you, Mr. Ryan.”

Javi watches intently for a sign that Ryan’s waking up.  The nurse smiles at him and makes another adjustment, then says softly, “He’ll start to wake up any minute now, Detective.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, eyes still on Ryan’s face.  He squeezes Ryan’s hand more tightly.  It takes a few minutes, but eventually he sees the flutter of Ryan’s eyes opening.  Ryan grips his hand tight as he comes awake, and makes a noise that tears Javi’s heart in two.  “Hey,” he soothes, standing up so he’s in Ryan’s field of vision.  “Hey, I’m right here.”

Ryan visibly relaxes at that, and his grip on Javier’s hand eases a little.  Javi keeps holding his hand as the nurse explains where he is, what’s been happening over the past few hours, and how they’re going to move him into a private room as soon as he’s a little more awake and there’s been time for the morphine to kick in.  Ryan nods once or twice when it’s called for, miniscule movements that make Javi intensely aware of the pain he must be in from his injuries.

He stays with Ryan while they move him, keeping hold of his hand for as long as he can.  When they wheel the gurney out into the hall he has to let go, and before he can follow Ryan down the hall to the ICU, a nurse pulls him aside.  “I know this is a difficult time for you,” she says, giving Javi a look that brooks no interruption, “but you need to be aware of a few things.  He’s not going to be miraculously better tomorrow morning.  He’s lost a lot of blood and been through a lot of shock, and the neurologist mentioned that there might be some degree of memory loss associated with the accident.”

“Accident,” Javi snorts.  The nurse gives him a look of disapproval, but doesn’t comment when he strides down the hall toward the room they took Ryan into.

Ryan is almost the same color of the sheets, pale and bleached out by everything he’s been through in the past day.  Javi reaches for his hand the minute he’s in range, laces their fingers together and waits while the nurses and orderlies get the IV stand set up and check Ryan’s dressings and bandages one last time.  Javi concentrates on breathing, even and steady, on watching Ryan’s face for any sign of his waking up again.  Seconds tick by, long and interminable, and it might have been a minute or an hour before Javi finally sees Ryan’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” he breathes.  “The doctor says you’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Ryan whispers.  “Hey.”

“I think they’re gonna kick me out soon so you can rest,” Javi says, smiling.  “But I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as they’ll let me in.”

“Kay,” Ryan sighs.  “Jav—“ he stops and tries to clear his throat.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.  Whatever it is, you can tell me in the morning.”

“No,” Ryan insists.  “I just . . . wanted to thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Javi murmurs, feeling himself start to choke up.

“You found me.  You were there,” Ryan says.  He sinks into sleep almost as soon as he’s finished speaking, and Javier squeezes his hand, one last comforting moment of contact before he slips out of the room.

~*~

The next morning, Javier has already been in Ryan’s room for a few hours when Ryan wakes up.  He’d arrived as soon as visiting hours started.  He’s camped out with a book, his detective shield laid casually on the table.  He turns pages every now and then, but he hasn’t actually managed to read a word.  Every so often, a nurse comes in and looks at him like she wants to ask him to move, or leave, but Javier just stares them down, occasionally putting his book down on the table next to his badge for a moment or two.

Finally, Ryan’s eyelids flicker, and Javi’s standing almost before the movement registers in his brain.  Ryan looks at him for a moment, and a smile flickers over his face as he recognizes Javier.  His mouth moves a little, like he’s trying to whisper a greeting, and Javi just smiles and takes Ryan’s hand.

“Morning,” Javi says.  “You can go back to sleep, Ryan, if you’re still tired.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Ryan blinks once, slow, and sinks back into sleep. 

Javier keeps vigil the rest of the day, watches as the nurses continue their parade in and out of the room.  He keeps ahold of Ryan’s hand whenever possible, but Ryan only has the one good arm, and the nurses and doctors need it to take vitals and make sure the IVs are delivering properly.  Ryan stirs a few times throughout the day, enough to eat a little, some bland brother the duty nurse brings at lunchtime, but he doesn’t try to speak again, and Javier isn’t convinced he’s really coherent or cognizant.  He has a familiar, shut-down look that Javi recognizes from years of watching victims and witnesses who’d been brutalized.  Ryan is different, though, Javi tells himself.  Ryan has him.

~*~

The first few days are the hardest.  Ryan stabilizes, then reverts back to critical condition several times, and Javi overhears the doctors whispering about amputating both wings, in the hopes that the removal will speed the recovery.  But before any drastic action is taken, he stabilizes and stays that way, breathing smooth and even, heartbeat regular, no more infections and no more frightening drops in blood pressure or oxygen levels.  Javi spends most of the first week on the phone back and forth to the various people who need to be notified, to Beckett and Castle, and to Captain Gates.  She’s surprisingly understanding about Javier staying by Ryan’s bedside, despite his unresponsive state, and despite Javi being perfectly fine to ride a desk until Ryan is better.  He doesn’t question it, just takes the reprieve gratefully and promises to make up for it as soon as Ryan’s out.

They move him out of the ICU into the recovery ward on a Friday, and Javi is both relieved and more concerned.  Ryan isn’t waking up for extended periods of time, and he’s not eating well, or enough, or getting enough fluids.  There’s an IV line keeping him nourished and alive, but even Javi can tell that it’s not going to fix things forever.  For whatever reason, Ryan can’t stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, keeps slipping back into a deeper sleep than seems natural or healthy.  Javi does his research, just in case this is an odd quirk of being fae, but nothing he can find indicates that the fae use sleep to heal, or that deep slumber is a side-effect of needing to access the deeper magic in order to heal more serious wounds.

Still, Javi can’t worry too much about the situation.  He’s being delivered paperwork by Castle or Beckett nearly every day, and occasionally Alexis comes by to sit with him and demand his help with whatever homework she’s working on that afternoon.  He likes those afternoons best.  Life seems almost normal with Alexis stabbing a plastic fork into a cafeteria salad while Javier tries to explain trigonometry to her.

Weeks pass in the same pattern, and Javier doesn’t go home very often.  He doesn’t like how empty the apartment feels, which is ridiculous, since it’s no more or less empty than it usually is.  He knows it’s a psychological reaction to knowing that Ryan is alone in the hospital, but all the same he spends less and less time at home, only returning to sleep and shower, and even then he seems to sleep better when he’s in Ryan’s room, slumped over in a chair and able to reach out and touch Ryan’s hand or leg if he wakes suddenly and can’t remember what’s going on.

He’s returning from one of his infrequent trips away from the hospital when the doctor stops him outside Ryan’s room.  “You’re his partner?” the doctor asks.  It’s a man Javier’s never seen before, and he nods silently, unsure what to make of this new face.  “You’re aware that he’s not showing signs of improvement, Mr. Esposito?”

“Detective,” Javier corrects automatically.  Most of the doctors and nurses just call him Javier, at this point, and he feels a little silly insisting on the job title, but it’s habit by now.  “I had noticed he wasn’t healing like he should be.  I’ve been worried about the way he sleeps.”

“Detective Esposito, I’m a specialist, I work almost exclusively with Fae.  The attending called me in to check Detective Ryan out, to make sure human error wasn’t responsible for the unchanging state,” the new doctor explains.

“It’s not good news, is it doc?” Javi asks.  He’s not sure what he’s more afraid of, walking through the door and not seeing a change, or listening to this man’s explanation as to why there wasn’t a change to see.

“It’s not, you’re right,” the doctor acknowledges.  “Detective Ryan is experiencing what we understand to be the magical equivalent of a coma.  It’s not exactly the same, and he can survive indefinitely in this state under normal conditions, but his injuries worry me,” the doctor explains.  “The stasis is more of an emergency response, something designed to lock down the injuries sustained, keep them from worsening, and hold everything in place until the individual feels secure or able to heal.  That Detective Ryan has remained in stasis this long after stabilizing the first time is a concern.  Either he doesn’t feel safe yet, which is possible, or his body’s decided it’s no longer safe at all.”

“What’s the endgame, here, doc?”

“If he doesn’t come out of it in the next few days, he’s not going to, not in our lifetimes at least.  Fae can last a very long time when they’re in this stasis state, he may be waiting until he feels there’s a need for him to revive, or he might just be in such advanced shock that he’s not going to come out of it,” the doctor shakes his head a little then raises an eyebrow slightly.  “If there’s anything you can think of to pull him out of it, now would be the time.”

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” Javi promises.

“If he’s not awake and functioning in the next twenty-four hours, I’ve left orders for him to be moved to the coma ward,” the doctor says softly.  “Maybe start saying your goodbyes.”

Javi can feel his jaw lock up with tension and the resolve not to cry in front of this stranger.  He doesn’t answer, just nods, and goes into the room.

Ryan is lying there, as he has been the past few weeks.  This time, though, instead of heading straight for his chair beside Ryan’s bed, Javier takes the time to really look at him.  He’s pale, even for a fair-skinned red head, and he’s beginning to look gaunt from the lack of proper food.  None of the injuries seem to have lessened in any way, the bruising and the stitched-up wounds looking just as raw as the first time Javi saw him.  The sling is gone, but only because it kept getting in the nurse’s way.  Ryan hasn’t been moving enough for them to need it to keep him still, and the head nurse finally agreed that it was more annoying than helping anything.  He can’t see the bandages on his back, keeping the reattached wings in place, but he can imagine how fresh the damage still looks beneath the gauze.

He finally takes his seat, sinking heavily into the chair.  He feels exhausted, more tired and weary than he knows what to do with.  He wishes for a moment that he wasn’t here, wasn’t the one who had to deal with all of this, but even as he’s wishing he’s recanting the wish.  There isn’t anyone else, he knows that, and besides, even if Ryan’s family had been able to get here, Javi would still have wanted to be the one keeping constant vigil.  It’s not in his nature to be anything other than fiercely loyal and protective, and having relatives around to ease the burden wouldn’t actually have made that much of a difference in his behavior.

For a long while he just sits, watching Ryan’s impassive face as the nurses come in and out, as the hospital continues on around them.  Finally he moves, shuts the door, and slides his chair as close to Ryan as he can get.

It’s not close enough, and he ends up on his knees, half bent over the hospital bed, uncomfortable and awkward, but able to get close enough to rest his head on Ryan’s undamaged thigh and hold onto his hand.  He laces their fingers together at first, but that’s not enough, and he ends up clutching Ryan’s hand between his own, pulled close to his mouth, so he can feel the warmth, keep the flutter of his pulse as close to his heart as possible.

He’s pretty sure there are nurses that come in and out; he thinks he registers hushed whispers over his head, murmuring their names, and what sounds like the senior nurse on shift telling the other girls to let them alone unless there’s a code.  He can’t make himself stir enough to thank her.

The lights automatically dim and go out when lights-out hits at 10:30, but Javi has one of the bedside lamps on, maybe from a few days ago.  He hasn’t been remembering things like turning lights on and off lately.  In the dim lamplight, Javi keeps his watch, eyes studying Ryan’s face, fingers clutching his hand, mouth pressed to Ryan’s knuckles.

As he watches, the past weeks come back to him, the emotional toll of finding his partner, the one person in all the world he relies on most, broken and dying in the middle of the street, the long hours spent at his bedside.  It all starts to crash in, until Javi can’t stop the tears.  “Ryan,” he whispers into the night.  “Ryan, please.”

There’s no response, of course, and Javi doesn’t actually expect one.  But the memories of all the times he’s been dependent on Ryan return to him, all the times Ryan’s saved his ass, or just been there, all the times he’s done whatever it took to save Javi, and all the times Javi returned the favor.  He needs Ryan, needs him alive and well, needs him in some fundamental way that he can’t fully explain.  He only knows that without Ryan, he won’t survive very long.

“Kevin,” he breathes.  “Querido.  Please.  I need you.  I can’t—I can’t survive without you.  If you die, if you don’t wake up, I don’t—I don’t know what I’ll do.  Please, querido.  Please come back to me.”  He takes a shaky breath and kisses Ryan’s knuckles again.  “If you don’t fight this, if you can’t pull through, I won’t be able to bear it,” he admits, his voice barely audible, even in the near-silence of the room.  “I can’t bear life without you.  I can’t bear losing you.  It would break my heart.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but sometime between his confession and the flicker of the hospital lights returning to announce another morning, he falls into the deepest sleep he’s had in days.

When he wakes up, it’s to a crick in his neck and stiff knees.  He slowly rises and stretches out, moves to the door and opens it, signaling the nurses that they’re welcome back, then moves to the other end of the room, where there’s a curtained window.  He pulls back one end of the drapery and lets natural light into the room, looks out at the parking ramp and the city spread out below him, looks at the blue sky and the pink reflection from the sun rising somewhere out of sight.  He takes his time turning back to look at Ryan again, and when he does, his heart leaps into his throat.  Ryan’s eyes are open, and he’s looking at Javi.

“What—“ Javi breathes, hardly daring to use his voice, for fear the illusion will be shattered.

“Javier,” Ryan rasps, his voice hoarse from disuse and lack of water.

“Oh my god,” Javi breathes, stepping forward to the bed.  “Oh my god, Ryan,” he repeats.

“Hey,” Ryan smiles.  He doesn’t say anything else, but Javi can read the question in his eyes.

“I—you’ve been asleep for weeks, bro,” he manages.  He can’t breathe right, his chest feels too tight to properly expand when he inhales, and he can’t stop smiling.  “I’ve been here the whole time, and Castle and Beckett come by every now and then, sometimes Alexis—we thought—they brought in a specialist,” he blurts.  “He said you weren’t going to pull through.”

“Proved him wrong,” Ryan whispers, a faint smile breaking through.

“I’m gonna call the nurse, okay?” Javi asks, not waiting for the answer.  Once he’s pressed the call button, he picks up Ryan’s hand again, the good one, and laces their fingers together.  He’s still so tired, exhausted, now that Ryan’s awake.  He drops his head down onto their linked hands and breathes, trying to get used to the lightness and calm where there used to weight and worry.

Javier can feel himself sinking down into sleep again, unable to stay awake any longer.  Ryan pulls his hand out of Javi’s grip and rests it on his head instead.  Javier turns toward him, and Ryan smiles and strokes the side of Javi’s face.  Things might never be the same, but Javier is sure that eventually they’re going to be all right.


End file.
